Captain Melbury
by Ithilmir
Summary: [Book Verse] During “Post Captain” when Jack and Stephen are ashore renting Melbury Lodge, Stephen ponders the nature of his feelings towards Jack. Suggestion of malexmale relationship.


**A/N:** For tootsiemuppet, who asked for a piece about Jack and Stephen when they were sharing bachelor digs. I have not seen many pieces written about the two when they were at Melbury, so I thought I'd give it a go. :D

"_Magpie, was it you who stole the wedding ring?  
Or what other thieving bird would steal such hope away?  
Magpie, I am lost among the hinterland,  
Caught among the bracken and the ferns and the boys who have no name.  
There's no name for us.  
But still we sing.  
And still we sing…"_ – 'Magpie', Patrick Wolf

* * *

The floor trembled as the sound of thundering hooves, snorting whinnies and Jack's booming laughter came ever closer; increasing in volume to be almost deafening as not one, not two, but three horses – mounted by Jack, Pullings and Babbington – came racing through the house, up the stairs and into the library; horseflesh scraping the walls and leaving great greasy patches of sweat on the plaster. All ornaments had mercifully been stripped from the walls earlier in anticipation of this great event, though Preserved Killick, the captain's steward, dreaded what state the parquet would be in after they 'finished with their bloody bedlam. How'm I ever goin' to get the polish back from them great hoof dents?'

Stephen sighed and removed his spectacles as he carefully lay down his lancet, lest the tremors and caterwauling of the indoor derby should cause him to make a mistaken incision in his most valuable specimen. There had been a public hanging in the village two days before of local highwayman; not a famous crook by any means, but notable enough to draw a crowd, and Stephen had had some hard bargaining to secure the body from the executioner. He was delighted to find his efforts had been worth the price; he had opened the spleen to find a very unusual and interesting case. He was considering sending several detailed notes and diagrams an old college friend at his house in Gower Street. Perhaps he might even go so far as to preserve it? Yes, Adcock would be delighted with such an example.

It was a month since the Peace had been signed, when he and Captain Aubrey had come ashore and taken Melbury Lodge; a neat gentlemen's residence in deepest Sussex. Stephen was at this moment situated in the winter drawing room; his own designated dissecting room, chosen since it was well out of the way of the somewhat bullish frivolity that was an almost daily occurrence in the household composed solely of sailors. Horses indoors were something new, the latest in a series of increasingly raucous entertainments dreamt up by Jack to fill the otherwise unoccupied hours. Indeed, Stephen thought as the ceiling above vibrated at each thudding hoof-fall, he dreaded what new revel Jack may yet come up with to outdo this escapade.

Cleansing the bloodstains from his hands in the small basin he kept by the door and drying on the towel, Stephen wondered whether all English country gentlemen were as boisterous as this; for although not a scion of the aristocracy, Jack undoubtedly belonged to the gentry; that ancient and obscure class that was in so many ways at the heart of rural life and gossip. Since they had been ashore Stephen had seen Jack immerse himself into country life with almost as much enthusiasm as he immersed himself in his life at sea. He had seen him astride a powerful bay in claret after a fox, raised in his stirrups and giving the hollar; that peculiar high-pitched, piercing call. Stephen could not help but wonder at the willingness of their landlord to simply leave his tenants to their own devices in such a house, regardless of furniture or any interior décor – many of his continental counterparts would blanch at the prospect of leaving an Englishman unchecked in any property of theirs. He reflected on observations of the English abroad, comparing it with behaviour aboard ship and at home, and from this Stephen could only conclude that in this sense Jack was the perfect model of an English gentleman; brash, loud, cheerful, charming, inclined to gluttony and drinking far too much, and Stephen loved him for it.

Stephen cringed somewhat at the admission, but there was no other word for it; he did love Jack. He had finally come to realise the fact as they were about to be taken by dear Christy-Pallière in the _Desaix_.

Before he had met Jack he had no longer cared what was to happen to him or those around him, but when faced with the prospect of incarceration, he had found he feared losing the life the two of them had together aboard the _Sophie_, the quiet nights they had spent in the cabin playing duets; all that would be gone, and Stephen realised with a shock that he did not want to lose Jack either. It was not a sort of brotherly love either, the sort of platonic feeling one might harbour for a comrade-in-arms – although he and Jack did use the endearment 'brother' quite frequently – but a deep love and respect; the kind of love that one would feel for a sweetheart, that demanded physical satiation and to be reciprocated. It was also a love unrequited, and although his heart cried out for a different state of affairs, Stephen was determined that it should remain unrequited; Jack showed no interest in such tendencies and most likely never would, and until he did the doctor was determined his all-too-restless heart should be content with friendship.

Yet even under all the restraints he heaped upon himself, Dr. Maturin dared to hope. Jack's answer to that vile Admiral Haddock's not even veiled hint about paying their respects to the young Williams ladies at Mapes Court gave him hope. The captain had told the Admiral that he had 'quite given up women'; given them up, and in that phrase Stephen saw a small, flickering ray of promise. Perhaps, with so many unoccupied evenings, their intimacy had the potential to grow. Who knew what may come from some late night duets by the fire after the port, a morning walk over the downs when the mist had not yet lifted from the hollows and the dells, when the cool air was fresh upon the nostrils and the birds only just begun to twitter…

At this Stephen laughed bitterly; that strange creaking laugh of his. Could he possibly be thinking of wooing Jack, like some desirable young maiden whose heart he sought to capture? The idea in itself was absurd; but now that he thought of it, he recalled he had already given Jack flowers. One day, when he had decided to walk up via Bagman's Copse, when he had discovered a species that he had never expected to see growing on chalk. He had run laughing to the house where Jack had been inspecting the stables and thrust two or three into his startled hand, hardly pausing to take a breath as he explained the phenomena with barely contained excitement. And Jack had smiled at him; nothing of a maidenly blush, no shyness, but a smile that was happy to see a friend equally as happy. In the year or so they had known each other they had reached what might be called a state of happy equilibrium. Sure they had their disagreements now and again, but what couple did not? But he dare not push for more; he had already won Jack's affections as a friend, he could not reasonably hope for anything else.

Stephen gazed thoughtfully out of the window at the garden, the grass an emerald green after the short rain shower they had had the day before. He was uncertain whether he should voice any of this to Jack, but perhaps now was not the right time. Jack had made no sign of harbouring any amorous feelings towards him, and any advance on his part might be met with a most serious rebuff. It was too soon. Or was it merely cowardice? He had had his heart broken so many times before that he thought if he exposed his it once more, only to be rejected, it would break. He would not bear to lose Jack in such a fashion; never. At that moment though he was saved from further contemplation, as the object of his desire arrived in the doorway.

"Lord, Stephen," cried Jack, bursting into the room with high-coloured cheeks, his blue eyes alight with mirth. "What a thundering good race that was!"

"To be sure it must have been, my dear," said Stephen. "If the adjective 'thundering' were to be taken literally in this sense. Pray, which of Messrs. Pullings and Babbington won?"

"Who said either of them won?"

"You did not say. However, I find it highly unlikely that you would have allowed yourself to win against such paltry competition."

"Oh," Jack's face fell somewhat. "You smoked it, then?"

"My dear, you have too kind a nature to rob two such junior officers of their money, even in a fair race." 'And how could anybody not love you for such kindness?' he thought privately to himself, as his friend hastily averted his glance from the bloody cadaver on the dissecting table.

"Well," said Jack, somewhat grudgingly, carefully taking Stephen by the shoulder and shepherding him out the room, willing to be saved the grizzly sight of the lifeless highwayman. "Any man would consider me something of a scrub if I did beat 'em. Babbington, though he may have sat on a beast once or twice at his uncle's, has no notion of handling a cart; no notion at all! And Pullings by his own admission has never ridden anything better than an ass before in his life. No sir, I should be a veritable scrub indeed to set about robbing my juniors. Even so," he said, looking at the doctor affectionately. "I do wish you could have mounted up, Stephen."

"So do I, my dear; but as I do not possess even half your skill in the saddle I would not hazard myself in an attempt to scale the library stairs. I am well aware I am more value to you and your crew whole than in pieces."

"If we ever get another crew," murmured Jack, the first glimpse of ill humour to cloud his face that day. "This damned Peace; it couldn't have come at a worse time. How I long to be back at sea with a deck beneath my feet and a crew to handle. Oh, do not think me ungrateful, Stephen; it has been most pleasant – but all this," He waved a vague hand about the corridor, which at this moment was being set to rights by Killick and several other hands. "Living without a purpose, this damned reluctance from Jackson over the prizes. I quite often find myself wishing we were at sea again. I know it must sound awful to you, Stephen; but a sailor without a war to fight is a poor creature indeed."

Stephen removed his spectacles to disguise his unease and began cleaning the lenses on his shirt in what he hoped was a thoughtful manner; willing his heart to slow in his bosom.

"You would consider asking me to accompany you once again if you were to go back to sea?"

"But of course, Stephen," Jack's brow furrowed with anxiety. "You weren't thinking of leaving were you? That is to say, it is your right to leave if you so wish; no, no obligation whatsoever. Heavens, I daresay you must be growing sick of such unlearned company! But I would take it most kindly, most kindly indeed, brother, were we to remain shipmates."

Stephen saw the look of deep distress in those blue eyes and instantly his resolve melted.

'How wrong you are, dearest soul,' he thought as he took in that well-meaning countenance that hated so much to see unhappiness in any creature. 'I am obligated, but to you, not Captain Aubrey, nor to the navy. And you will never know.' Then aloud: "No, my dear, you need not fear; I am not thinking of leaving. Indeed, I could not contemplate leaving when I am quite content with where I am. Come, stable your gallant charger and we shall have some music. Shall we attempt the Corelli again this evening?"

All anxiety vanished from Jack's expression in an instant – like the sky clearing after a storm – and he smiled, his blue eyes sparkling with the purest joy and affection.

"With all my heart, brother."


End file.
